


i’m alright with a slow burn

by dearly-beloved (fangirls5ever)



Category: BSD - Fandom, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Dancing, Dazai and Chuuya are fools, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Galas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Soukoku, and does nothing, and the one time it sticks, bisexual!Dazai, chapter 2 tw for mentioned child abuse and mild threats, endgame soukoku, from age 14 to 22, in which Dazai has a crush on someone 5 times, light and fluffy, oblivious but still pining Chuuya, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-12-26 23:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18292190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirls5ever/pseuds/dearly-beloved
Summary: If all crushes turn him this stupid, Dazai never wants to have one again.——Five times Dazai has a crush, and the one time it sticks.





	1. Agatha Christie

The first time Dazai meets Agatha Christie, they’re fourteen, and far too clever for their own good.

He’s idling along the edges of a Port Mafia gala, drink in hand and Chuuya leaning against the wall beside him, when he catches the first flash of long golden hair and a blood-red smile. It isn’t unusual to see foreigners at these sort of things. After all, they’re intended to build the mafia’s relations and flaunt wealth to both allies and enemies, international included.

But the girl is hardly just another mafia thug, and the second time she passes, moving gracefully alongside her partner, proves it.

Dazai’s memorized the guest list beforehand, taking in names, affiliations, and enough blackmail to bring just about anyone in the gaudy ballroom to their knees. But even without this preemptive research, he would have been able to recognize the girl now sweeping into a low curtsy as the dance ends.

The prodigy of London’s Gifted network, with her sharp features and too-quick smile, is a very difficult person to miss. 

“You’re staring,” Chuuya tells him bluntly, swishing his sparkling drink with a look of distaste.

Dazai arches a brow, but watches as Agatha turns to give him one last smile before melting into the crowd of black waistcoats and cream skirts. “I didn’t take you as a stickler for propriety, chibi,” he says lightly, taking a sip of his own drink and nearly gagging at the syrupy sweetness. Kaiji must be in charge of the champagne again. Lowering his glass with a silent vow to not drink a single drop more, he adds, “And it’s hardly impolite if they initiate it.”

Two quick gestures from the conductor, and the music starts up again, melody quick and lively as dancers take their places on the floor.

“That’s the kind of rationale you’d hear from a stalker, mackerel. Keep staring and I’ll tell Kouyou.”

“A terrifying threat, chibi, truly.”

Dazai doesn’t bother to check if Chuuya’s flipping him off for that last comment (he’s certain he is), as his attention is caught immediately by the figure cutting through the crowd toward him, blonde hair swaying behind her with each step.

Agatha Christie eyes Dazai the way a cat might a mouse, blue eyes filled with an almost vicious curiosity as she stops before them and dips into a low curtsy. “Gentlemen,” she murmurs, and Dazai and Chuuya both bow in return. Rising, Agatha fixes her gaze again on Dazai, giving him a smile he thinks is supposed to be demure. “I don’t suppose you’d care to dance?” she says. “My partner’s been called away on business, and yours doesn’t seem to care much for dancing.”

Chuuya scoffs, muttering a clipped, “Only when it’s with him,” under his breath. Ignoring his partner’s acid tone, Agatha holds out a hand to Dazai, palm face up. “Well?” she says. “Shall we?”

Dazai watches her through half-lidded eyes, mind skimming through all the intel he’s gleaned on Agatha Christie. Affiliation: Order of the Clock Tower. Ability: And Then There Were None. Even with No Longer Human to neutralize her ability, the girl is dangerous, having singlehandedly started and ended numerous bloody conflicts in Europe. Much like Dazai, her greatest asset is her mind. Why resort to physical violence when threats and manipulation work twice as well? It’s all a matter of staying one step ahead, keeping the cards always in your favor.

Dazai’s confident he can hold back enough so she learns nothing significant about himself or the Port Mafia. Rather, his only reason for hesitation is that he’s certain she’ll manage to do the same. The gesture will be pointless. The Port Mafia and the Order are neither allies nor enemies enough for it to mean anything politically, and Agatha Christie, while important enough to have many secrets of interest, is clever enough to see through any attempts to learn them.

There’s nothing to gain from dancing with her.

But something’s been brushing against his thoughts since she first caught his eye, crackling over his skin like static, making everything go hazy in a way he’s never felt before, even with the drugs Mori’s forced him to build a tolerance for.

And it’s this strange feeling that has him reaching out, hand rested in hers even as Chuuya turns to give him a disbelieving stare.

Dazai’s smile is a match to Agatha’s, dagger-sharp, with eyes bright and curious.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says.

———

They leave Chuuya at the sidelines, glaring after them, two glasses of syrupy champagne in hand.

——

To anyone watching, they would appear a graceful, if not somewhat strange, couple. Each time Agatha spins, she glides back into the leading position, shifting Dazai’s grip and continuing on with the music. Dazai, for his part, only gives her a half smile and waits for the next spin to take up leading, having learned the following part when Kouyou tried to teach Chuuya this dance.

He feels dizzy almost, unlike himself, but not in a way that can be explained by the dancing and music. It isn’t normal for him to be so—pliant. Dazai has made himself irritating and disagreeable to most by choosing to fight at every able opportunity, often arguing with Chuuya more out of principle than anything else. He should be making some sort of backhanded compliment now, about her dancing, or her organization, or the way that they change parts on every fourth measure of the music. He should be prodding for weaknesses, gathering some sort of intel to be used later, scheming, or at least doing something useful.

But he stays silent, whatever drug he’s been slipped apparently turning him mute and dull as he scrambles for something clever to say, or even just anything at all.

Agatha, be it a blessing or a curse, is perfectly unaffected. “I’ve been following your work for a while now, you know,” she says, twirling out and back in, blue eyes gleaming. “Even before everything with Double Black and your partner.”

Dazai knows empty flattery when he hears it, but embarrassingly enough, something in him warms at the words. “And I yours,” he says, the words blessedly coming out smooth and unaffected. Focusing on his heartbeat, he forces it again to an even pace, inwardly shaking his head as he adds, “It’s impressive how much political sway your organization manages to hold.”

Truly, what is it about this gala that’s turning him into an idiot?

The music’s tempo slows just the slightest, the dancers easing their pace. Agatha takes the opportunity to step in even closer, until they’re separated by scant inches, her smile wide and wicked, eyes searching for a reaction.

Dazai knows this tactic for what it is, has seen Mori use it—he’s even employed it himself on a number of occasions. This alone is only thing that keeps him from flinching back and giving ground. It’s almost reflex now to go perfectly blank, visible, un-bandaged eye vacant enough to earn him the affectionate nickname ‘mackerel.’

Whatever she’s looking for, Agatha doesn’t seem to find, gaze narrowing just a fraction even as she brings a hand to rest at the back of his neck. “I never took you as shy,” she says, voice lilting and singsong as she tries a new tact. “Given your partner’s animosity and your position in the mafia, I’d have imagined you’d be quite bold.”

Dazai’s smile returns quickly, easy and relaxed as he edges ever closer to her, ignoring how electricity seems to crackle over his skin where it touches hers. “Only when I have to be,” he says. “I can only hope you’ll be bold enough for the both of us.”

Agatha laughs, soft and musical, looking far more pleased with the statement than he’d anticipated. “Have no doubt, I will be.” She tilts her head slightly as they turn, the music quieting further. “I’m glad to find you quite different from your employer,” she says. “As his prodigy, I must confess, I had reason for concern.”

“Being different from Mori doesn’t necessarily mean being better,” Dazai says, his tone light, almost teasing.

Agatha flashes him a razor-edged smile, leaning in to murmur, “Perhaps not—but it’s quite enough that I should like to kiss you before the night ends, if you’ll let me.”

Dazai’s mind stops.

Restarts.

He blinks once, twice, just narrowly managing to avoid giving her a disbelieving stare.

Dazai prides himself on his quick mind, thoughts, strategies—it’s the reason he’s in the Port Mafia, and the reason he’s been able to survive in it for so long. But now, everything seems frozen, caught in a loop as his mind replays her words over and over again ceaselessly, before finally, finally catching on the last four words.

_If you’ll let me. ___

__

__Though it’s been three seconds of silence at most, Dazai still feels the sudden need to slam his head into a wall._ _

__

__“I would like that,” he says quietly._ _

__

__The look she gives him in turn is nothing short of beatific._ _

__

__The music swells in the background one last time, dancers spinning out, long skirts flaring, before reaching out again to their partners—_ _

__

__Agatha leans in close, one hand at his neck and one at his back as she murmurs, “Now fall, Dazai.”_ _

__

__He allows only a moment’s hesitation, a glance to the corner of the room where Mori sits, glass of wine in hand, with red eyes fixed on the blonde girl beside him._ _

__

__(He doesn’t think to look over his shoulder, where a boy with reddish-orange curls gapes at the sight before him.)_ _

__

__Leaning back, Dazai closes his eyes, letting gravity take over. He can feel Agatha move with him, edging closer, the pressure of her hands at his back and neck the only thing keeping him from falling completely._ _

__

__Something presses against his lips, featherlight, before drawing back, Dazai being tugged to his feet with the motion._ _

__

__Agatha smiles, dipping into a low curtsy as she murmurs, ““I’m glad to have met you, Dazai Osamu. I can only hope the next time we see each other, it is on such good terms.”_ _

__

__Dazai, still dazed, bows in return. “I’ll look forward to it,” he says._ _

__

__——_ _

__

__It takes five hours of tossing and turning that night, and one quick google search, before Dazai narrows down just what he’d been feeling at the gala._ _

__

__The answer is—unnerving, perhaps. Unfortunate, certainly._ _

__

__Because apparently, he, the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia, right hand of Mori Ougai, and feared member of Double Black, has a crush on Agatha Christie._ _

__

__And Dazai can safely say that, if all crushes turn him this stupid, he never wants to have one again._ _

__

__——_ _

__

__The day after the gala finds Dazai in Mori’s office, case file in hand, and partner standing next to him._ _

__

__He’s in a sort of muted mood today, evident from his lack of jabs about Chuuya’s height, and is feeling something near charitable, evident from how he hasn’t reprimanded his partner’s blatant staring. It’s not like Dazai isn’t used to being stared at—he’s an Ability User and Mori’s prodigy, he’s more or less destined for attention, both good and bad._ _

__

__It’s simply that Dazai isn’t used to being stared at by his partner._ _

__

__So when Mori waves them away, dismissing them for their mission, Dazai gives Chuuya the walk down the hall, the trip down the elevator, and the whole trek to their apartments, feeling almost saintly with this newfound graciousness, before his patience wears thin._ _

__

__Spinning on his heel to face his partner, Dazai smirks, making his voice purely saccharine as he purrs, “If you have something to say, chibi, just spit it out.”_ _

__

__Chuuya jolts, blue eyes going wide as he visibly freezes at having been caught staring. It’s an almost comical sight, with the door half-open, hat in hand, and gaping mouth just snapping shut._ _

__

__Dazai stares at Chuuya; Chuuya stares back._ _

__

__A minute passes._ _

__

__(Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dazai sighs at just how utterly stupid they must look right now.)_ _

__

__But then Chuuya blinks, and the moment passes as blue eyes narrow into a glare. “Of course not, you idiot mackerel,” he snarls, and stalks into his room, slamming the door shut behind him._ _

__

__Dazai waits a minute, and then two, folding his hands behind his back and humming as he stands patiently in the hall. He knows they’ll have it out sooner or later—better to just get it over with before the mission, so he can ensure his own undisturbed rest after it._ _

__

__True to form, Chuuya’s apartment door cracks open just the slightest. Slowly, the redhead eases it open until he’s fully visible, stopping to lean against the door frame._ _

__

Dazai’s seen Chuuya be happy before, unable to stop laughing; exhausted, barely keeping his eyes open; furious, seconds from doing Dazai a favor and just putting the brunette in the ground himself.

But never has he seen Chuuya be shy before this.

__“That girl, Agatha...” Chuuya says quietly, not meeting Dazai’s gaze. “Do you like her?”_ _

__

__Dazai cants his head to the side. Considers the boy before him._ _

__

__This is what’s bothering him? Really?_ _

__

__“It’s only infatuation, Chuuya,” he says. “It’ll pass quickly enough.”_ _

__

__“Really?”_ _

__

__“Really.”_ _

__

__“Oh...”_ _

__

__Both fall silent, Chuuya’s brow furrowing as he examines everything again in light of what Dazai’s told him. He doesn’t think the mackerel’s lying, per se. It’s just—something about the whole matter irritates him. Rubs him the wrong way. Makes him want to smack Dazai, and pull closer all at the same time._ _

__

__It’s a strange feeling, really—one that’s become increasingly common around the mackerel, though he’s still reluctant to examine it further._ _

__

__Whatever it is, Chuuya’s sure it can wait._ _

__

__“See you at the mission then, I guess,” he says, gaze finally rising to meet Dazai’s._ _

__

__Dazai tilts his head, gives Chuuya a half smile that makes his breath catch._ _

__

__“I’ll see you then, partner.”_ _


	2. Kouyou Ozaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentioned child abuse, and mildly graphic threats

The year Dazai turns fifteen is, in many aspects, one of the most unfortunate years of his life.

Only three days after his birthday, Mori personally calls Soukoku to his office and announces that he’ll be putting far more focus into training Dazai and Chuuya as a team, in addition to working with them individually on each of their strengths.

Chuuya, predictably, practically glows at the attention and opportunity to grow stronger.

Dazai, predictably, wilts at the prospect of more work, and more long, tension-filled hours with Mori.

(He’s trained privately with the mafia boss before, and knows it to be anything but a privilege. Mori was the one who taught him the skills he needed in interrogation, the arteries he should aim for when wielding a knife, the ways he could handle being the subject in an interrogation, either verbal or physical. The Port Mafia boss does not believe in half-measures—to him, mere theory is useless. Anything Dazai and Chuuya learn in their lessons together will be first-hand, inflicted on a rival gang, or even each other.)

(And Dazai, as the partner of a combat-oriented mafioso, with all the new techniques his partner is sure to learn under Mori’s cruel teaching...)

(At least, Dazai thinks to himself bitterly, he’ll have a reason for all the bandages. He stares at the pale skin of his arms as though he can already see the garish bruises that will mar them.)

The next day finds the two halves of Soukoku in Mori’s office, Chuuya with his hat in hand, and Dazai with his arms crossed, infamously deadened eyes nearly pitch-black. Mori watches them back with a faint smile, hands clasped loosely together and resting on his desk; Kouyou stands silently behind him with her sword at her side, the very image of grace from her rose-colored kimono to her demure expression. As mentor to Chuuya, she had requested to be present at all training sessions for the redhead.

“To observe his progress,” she had said, expression even, red eyes serene.

Dazai and Mori could hear the implied _and to keep you from breaking him _well enough.__

__

__Kouyou, after all, had been one of Mori’s students too._ _

__

__“Let’s start with a basic physical test,” Mori says, tapping his index finger against his knuckles. “A quick sparring session to assess combat prowess and see what we have to work with, hmm?”_ _

__

__Dazai ignores the apologetic smile Mori gives him, the way Chuuya’s breath quickens in anticipation of a fight. It’s no secret that combat is his least favorite subject, and, coincidentally, his worst. Able as he is to predict an enemy’s attack, Dazai’s skill is only useful if he has the speed and strength to dodge it. And given that most of his days are spent reading reports, formulating plans, and just generally being immobile somewhere near headquarters..._ _

__

__(An image flashes into his head again: forearms bruised until barely an inch of pale skin is still visible, bandages pressing down and chafing against them, hiding the marks as he walks again to Mori’s office, returning for another day of training much like the first.)_ _

__

__Forcing back a shudder, Dazai turns on his heel, stalking over to one corner of the room as Chuuya heads to the one opposite it, gloves and hat tossed aside, blue eyes gleaming. The redhead has never trained individually before with Mori, and it shows—he knows it won’t be a fair fight (even if Dazai was given a gun or a knife, it wouldn’t be. This is what he gets for being partners with a literal god), knows that it’ll end quickly enough, as Dazai is safe only so long as he’s quick enough to dodge his partner’s attacks._ _

__

__But what Chuuya doesn’t anticipate is Mori’s cold, impersonal smile when he has Dazai pinned to the floor minutes later with a hand around his neck, the word, “Continue,” almost lilting as it echoes around the room._ _

__

__“But it’s over. He lost,” Chuuya says slowly, blue eyes flicking from Mori’s to Kouyou’s, grip loosening just a fraction._ _

__

__Mori’s smile only widens, stretching unnaturally, a ghastly baring of teeth. “So make him pay for it.”_ _

__

__Chuuya stares a moment longer at Kouyou, her distant, unchanging expression offering little guidance, before turning again to Mori. Something in his gaze hardens as it meets the mafia boss’s, flashing with blue fire that reminds Dazai again that his partner is far from human._ _

__

__Chuuya releases his grip on Dazai and steps back, standing almost defensively over his partner. “No,” he says. “This round is finished, and unless you need to see another, we can move onto the next step.”_ _

__

__Something manic burns in Mori’s gaze as he purrs, “Finish it, Nakahara, or I will.”_ _

__

__Hardly daring to breathe, Dazai can only watch as Chuuya continues to stare down the Port Mafia boss, a man capable of having him killed in mere seconds. His partner is defiant and unbending, fists clenched and For the Tainted Sorrow flickering around him in streaks of red energy._ _

__

__A foreign sort of warmth curls through Dazai’s veins at the sight, moving slowly, almost languidly, growing brighter and brighter with each second that passes. It’s a new, strange sort of feeling, but yet there’s recognition there, something familiar to it that makes the world around him seem to brighten and his mind fade to static._ _

__

__He’s close to naming it, he’s sure—he knows this feeling, though he’s only felt it once before. A hazy image of a brightly-lit ballroom fills his mind, the silhouette of a blonde-haired girl flashing through his mind. Yes, that was where he last felt it..._ _

__

__Dazai opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, the word on the tip of his tongue as he remembers that this feeling is—_ _

__

__“Enough, Mori.”_ _

__

__Dazai blinks, snapping out of his haze to look to where Kouyou now stands in front of Chuuya, one hand on his shoulder and the other resting lightly on the hilt of her sword._ _

__

__The message is clear enough—Mori’s murderous smile quickly shifts to something more placating, though no less dangerous. “If this is where you’ll draw the line for Chuuya, then very well, Ozaki,” he says. “He’s your charge, and you’ll do with him as you will.” Mori pauses, red eyes flicking to where Dazai lies still and prone on the ground. “And I, of course, will be left to deal with mine.”_ _

__

__Dazai has few questions to what Mori’s implying—already, he can feel the ghost of a blade running across his skin, the static of antiseptics breaking through all coherent thought, the words, “This will make you stronger,” spoken over and over again like a mantra._ _

__

__Slowly, Mori turns again to Kouyou, mouth still spread in that ghastly smile. “Do we have an understanding, Ozaki?” he asks._ _

__

__Kouyou remains as aloof as ever, the only sign she’s even heard Mori’s offer being a thoughtful look at Chuuya. The boy’s gaze only burns hotter from the mafia Boss’s placation, red patterns shimmering across his skin and floor creaking dangerously as gravity warps around him._ _

__

__His choice is obvious enough._ _

__

__Idiot that he is, Chuuya is not leaving without a fight._ _

__

__(Dazai notes detachedly that the feeling is back, growing stronger with each second, wrapping around him almost protectively as he keeps his gaze fixed on blue eyes.)_ _

__

__(If only he could just remember its _name _—)___ _

___ _

___“I’ll be taking Dazai and Chuuya with me now, boss,” Kouyou says at last, her words drawing Dazai’s gaze to her again as suddenly, he remembers, the word for this feeling is—_ _ _

___ _

___“No,” Dazai murmurs to himself, softly enough that only Chuuya, senses heightened by Arahabaki, hears him and turns to look questioningly._ _ _

___ _

___But Dazai isn’t thinking of Chuuya anymore, or his idiotic, suicidal move in standing up to Mori—he’s thinking of Kouyou, with her painted-silk kimono, brilliant ruby eyes, and deadly grace. Because Dazai knows this feeling, now, even as he fights back a wave of mortification at his realization._ _ _

___ _

___Dazai likes someone. That much is obvious._ _ _

___ _

___And given that Kouyou is the only woman in the room..._ _ _

___ _

___Dazai barely registers Mori’s response, staying perfectly still as Chuuya walks over to him and reaches out a hand. Dazedly, Dazai reaches out to grab it, too caught up in his own horrifying realizations to register the way electricity crackles over his skin at the contact, how the warmth has returned to his veins._ _ _

___ _

___“Come on,” he hears Chuuya say, the words faint, as though from a great distance. “We’re leaving.”_ _ _

___ _

___——_ _ _

___ _

___Having a crush on Ozaki Kouyou is, oddly enough, nothing like having a crush on Agatha Christie._ _ _

___ _

___When she leads him and Chuuya to one of the mafia owned apartment complexes, and turns at the entrance to tell Dazai, “You’ll be staying here for now,” Dazai feels nothing, seemingly too emotionally exhausted to articulate any sort of reaction._ _ _

___ _

___But when she reaches into a hidden pocket, and shoves a key into Chuuya’s hand with a soft, “He’ll stay in your room with you,” Dazai finds himself almost staggering at the sudden onslaught of emotions._ _ _

___ _

___He’s... anxious, that much is clear from the way his heart rate picks up. The uncertainty there, too, is an easy one to name. In a situation like this, it is to be expected._ _ _

___ _

___But Dazai is most shocked to find himself feeling something near happy at Kouyou’s words, his hand still in Chuuya’s tightening reflexively._ _ _

___ _

___“The doorman will let you up,” Kouyou says, and Dazai looks up to meet her gaze, waiting to feel that same rush of emotion, steeling himself against it—_ _ _

___ _

___But nothing changes. No static, no warmth—only a strange, hyper awareness of the hand holding his._ _ _

___ _

___“I’ll be back late tonight. Be sure to go to sleep on time,” she adds, giving Chuuya a pointed look._ _ _

___ _

___Chuuya blinks, as though startled by the accusation lobbied at him. “Of course, ane-san,” he says, words sincere in a way that fools absolutely no one._ _ _

___ _

___Kouyou arches a brow, but says nothing further of it, murmuring a soft, “Until tomorrow,” before turning in a whirl of painted silk, and gliding away down the street._ _ _

___ _

___Chuuya watches, gaze fixed on her retreating figure as she walks, hairpins swaying with each step. Only when she disappears around the corner of a high rise does he at last turn to face Dazai, their joined hands swinging lightly with the motion. “Let’s head inside. There should be some leftovers from last night, and I have some video games we can play to pass the time, if you want.”_ _ _

___ _

___Dazai nods._ _ _

___ _

___Chuuya frowns, uncertain how to act in the face of zero resistance, but merely tugs Dazai towards the apartment entrance, surprised when the brunette follows quietly without resistance._ _ _

___ _

____Strange _, he thinks. The only other time he’d seen Dazai so compliant was at the ball with Agatha Christie.__ _ _ _

___ _

___But certainly, there’s no connection—and even if there is, Chuuya has more pressing matters than Dazai’s brief love life, namely what he’s going to eat for supper, and just how he’s going to crush Dazai’s team on Pokémon._ _ _

___ _

___Brushing aside any romance-oriented thoughts, Chuuya focuses on climbing the stairs up to Kouyou’s apartment. After all, such matters surely have little, if anything, to do with him._ _ _

___ _

___——_ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday, Dazai is going to look back on this and die inside a little (Chuuya too)  
> ——
> 
> I’ll be back soon to edit it one more time soon, but for now, hopefully I didn’t miss too much :’D Comments and kudos are super appreciated, and I always make sure to write back on each comment!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Dazai’s pretty shy in this chapter, so he’s probably a little ooc, but he’ll definitely become less so as he grows up and eventually leaves the mafia :D If anyone has critiques on characterization, I’d be happy to read them and try to incorporate them in the next chapter! ^^
> 
> Kudos and comments would make me really happy, and I always respond to each message ^^ If there’s anything that needs fixing, comment and I’ll be sure to come back and add it in.


End file.
